


Galidor Vulthir || The Dragonborn Comes

by Epsilonn



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-19 04:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13696995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epsilonn/pseuds/Epsilonn
Summary: First in a long series of collected stories retelling the many events of Skyrim. Covers the main quest. Snow Elf Dovahkiin.





	1. Chapter 1

_ How long has it been dark...? Weeks? Months? Years? _

_ I’m awake now, at least. Awake, and in the dark. What’s my name... who am I?  _

_ \-- What’s that? A voice in the darkness? That voice in my head... it doesn’t belong to me... _

**“Hjalti. Wulfharth. Zurin. Ysmir. Tiber Septim. Talos.”**

_ That voice... I’ve heard it before. What are those names? _

**“Shor. Shezzarr. Lorkhan.”**

_ By Auri-El... what is this? Where am I? _

**“... Galidor Vulthir.”**

_ \---- _

A sharp bump forced Galidor out of his deep sleep. 

Brow furrowing, Galidor slowly turned his head around. Through blurred vision, he could make out trio of Atmorans seated on the cart, each one bound, and one gagged. Looking down at his hands, Galidor could see that he, too, had been bound. Had he been taken prisoner? Alongside these Atmorans? Had he not been among them, he’d have assumed the Atmorans were the ones who had captured him… 

The smallest among the four prisoners gazed meekly down at his feet, the one who had been gagged glared silently forward, and the last, a burly man with blond hair and beard, had turned his attention to Galidor.

“Hey, you! You’re finally awake.” 

Galidor nodded, trying to focus on him. 

“You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.” 

“Cross the border…?” Memories began filtering back into his head. That was right, he had been trying to return to Skyrim after waking up in that temple, the temple where… 

_ Damn it all _ . The speed at which his mind racing from thought to thought too fast to focus on anything, and the bickering among his fellow prisoners certainly wasn’t helping - something about ‘Stormcloaks’, an Empire, a rebellion. It sounded like absolute nonsense. How much had happened since he’d gone to sleep? How long had it been? 

Not that there was any use in it. From what he could tell, he and the other men were being sent to their deaths. 

“Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh! Divines, please help me!” One of the prisoners suddenly cried out, turning his head towards the skies in prayer. Though Galidor only knew Mara from the names he spoke, the message was clear. The only salvation they would have was from the gods. 

Another memory came, this one of the voice which had spoken to him as he’d awakened. That calm, ethereal voice, as familiar as it was distant - the voice, Galidor now remembered, which belonged to Auri-El. Auri-El, who had spoken to Galidor in his people’s darkest time. He remembered that voice telling him to hide in his Southernmost temple until the time when the gods would need him…

He’d fallen asleep in that temple - but for how long had Auri-El kept him there? And if Auri-El needed him, why was he being sent to his death?

“Look at him. General Tullius, the military governor, and it looks like the Thalmor’re with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this.” The man across from Galidor spoke up, glaring away from the cart at a nearby man on horseback, flanked by a group of darkly dressed Altmer. 

Galidor scoffed, finally looking up from the floor. 

“Some things never change,  _ Atmoran _ .” 

The man fixed him with a confused stare. 

“Atmoran? Nobody’s been called Atmoran since the First Era.”

“... And just what era is this now?” 

The cart came to a halt. 

“Are you mad, boy? It’s the Fourth Era, I’m a Nord, and you’re…” 

Galidor tilted his head. Nord? _ Fourth Era _ ? While that explained enough, it only left him with even more questions. Had he been forsaken, or was this some strange step in Auri-El’s plan? 

The most he could do was have faith. Auri-El would not do this without purpose. 

“... some kinda elf. Ah, well. Mad or not, this here’s the end of the line. Let’s go. Shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us.”

The four stood and filed off of the cart, the thief crying objections as they did. Galidor ignored him, as he did the other two prisoners, instead turning his focus inward as he mentally recited the prayers his mother and father had taught him. 

“Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm.”

A human man spoke, reading off a list in his hand. The gagged man stepped forward, the same icy glare he’d kept on his face unflinching as he moved past the two soldier. 

“It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric.” The man next to Galidor spoke. Galidor gave him a brief glance, but thought nothing of it. Whatever bond they had was of no importance. They were all being sent to their demise. 

“Ralof, of Riverwood.” 

Without a word, Ralof - the man who had been standing beside him - followed Ulfric.

“Lokir, of Rorikstea--” 

“No, I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!”

With that shout from the thief, Galidor couldn’t help but snap out of his thoughts to watch. Lokir had started to run, rushing desperately past the soldiers. Without a moment’s hesitation, an archer let loose an arrow from his bow to stop him. Galidor flinched, turning his gaze away as the man’s body fell dully to the ground. 

“Anyone else feel like running?” A woman, likely some sort of commander from the authority she seemed to command, shouted at the remaining prisoners. She, unlike the man holding the list, didn’t appear Atmoran. Perhaps some other breed of human.

_ As if the world needed more,  _ Galidor thought bitterly.

“Wait… who are you?” The man asked, tilting his head slightly.

Galidor stepped forward. 

“My name is Galidor Vulthir.” 

A brief silence followed, the man taking a moment to look over his list as he spoke.

“You an Altmer? No, you look…” 

“I am Falmer.” Galidor interjected, holding his head high. “And I go to my death freely.” 

The two soldiers watched dumbstruck as Galidor followed the other prisoners. If he were to face death, he would not face it as Lokir did, fleeing from his fate. No, he would die with some dignity left, and return to Auri-El as he was meant to. 

“Next prisoner!” The executioner called, using his foot to shove his last body off the chopping block. 

Feeling a sharp push on his back, Galidor stepped forward without hesitation. If he were to die, then so be it. He stared directly into the executioner’s eyes as he approached, before allowing himself to be pushed down onto the block. 

_ Auri-El, guide me. _

It was to be his last thought. A short prayer, a message to his god -- but it was not final. 

A monstrous sound, some sort of animalistic roar, pierced the air. The executioner, just as he was about to swing his axe, turned to stare upwards in absolute shock. The town immediately erupted into chaos, screams of terror and agony as the people scattered. Galidor opened his eyes and turned his gaze to the skies…

There, soaring above Helgen, was a massive black dragon. It stared downwards with malice in its flaming red eyes before releasing a gout of flames from its mouth. Though Galidor managed to roll to the side, avoiding the brunt of the blast, his executioner was not so lucky. 

Taking no time to see what had become of him, Galidor struggled to his feet and took off, running away from the chopping block. It seemed he’d been granted another few moments to live...


	2. Chapter 2

Without pause, Galidor had taken off away from the chopping block. Though soot and ash from the dragon’s flaming breath clouded his vision, he could just barely make out a tower ahead of him, its door open and a few nearly-formless human-like shapes entering.

Whether friend or foe, he decided, they were his best bet at escaping the monster’s wrath. He rushed towards the door, nearly tripping over himself in his desperation. Flight instinct had taken over his head, disregarding the fearlessness he showed in the face of his executioner. If he could escape death, he damn well would.

Though fear made the distance between the block and the door seemed miles long, Galidor quickly found himself stumbling into the tower. Rubbing at his eyes, he tried to make out the figures standing around him. Two were the bound men who had been on the carriage with him - the men they’d addressed as Ulfric Stormcloak and Ralof of Riverwood.

There was no time to worry about what these Atmorans might do to him if they escaped together. Not when a _dragon_ had nearly taken each of them to the gods.

“Are you alright, boy?” Ulfric asked, taking hold of Galidor by the shoulders in an attempt to steady him. Though he tried to answer, Galidor only found himself coughing up soot, feeling his throat burning from the smoke he’d breathed in. He was let go, allowed to steady himself and clear his throat of the ash.

“Well… well enough…” He managed, finally forcing words through his searing throat.

“Good. Each of us will need to be as well as we can be if --”

Without warning, a deafening explosion thundered from above. The dragon had burst through the tower wall with its head, breathing in a gout of flame. Galidor could only watch as one of the men, one whose name he didn’t know but was dressed in the same armor as Ralof, was reduced to ash in the fire.

Gritting his teeth, Galidor forced his gaze onto the dragon. It was a monstrous thing, its scales as black as night and its eyes bright red, the color of scorching flames. Worse than the terror its appearance inspired, however, was when its eyes met Galidor’s.

His fists and the dragon’s jaw both clenched. In that short moment, each felt this would not be the last time they stared into one another’s eyes.

“Begone from here, dragon!” Ulfric shouted from beside Galidor. “Or your voice will be forced to meet mine!”

An amused chuckle passed through the monster’s mouth, shaking the tower’s foundation as it reverberated through the air. Another blast of flame followed, a concentrated burst which rocketed towards the small group. Each of them dove to the side, only three managing to avoid its impact. Ulfric, Ralof, and Galidor watched from the ground as the dragon took off from the tower, letting loose a harrowing roar.

After pushing himself to his feet, Ulfric stepped towards the burnt corpses of those unlucky enough not to escape the dragon’s fire. Galidor caught glimpse of a somber expression crossing his face, the look of a grieving man. To see an Atmoran stand over his fallen allies, sorrow in his eyes, was sobering - but it had to be brief.

“You, elf!” Ralof called, himself standing up. “You see the hole that monster left? Should open up to a house nearby, if I remember the place right. Jump from there, see if you can’t escape - Ulfric and I will make our own way out.”

Galidor nodded wordlessly, taking only a brief moment to watch Ulfric say a short prayer over the bodies before starting up the stairs towards the opening the dragon had left. Just as Ralof said, a building - or what was left of one - stood right outside. Though it was burning, clearly ravaged by flames, it was the only chance Galidor had of escaping the tower with his life.

Offering Auri-El a short prayer, Galidor leapt from the tower into the building. The floor, not to mention his legs, nearly gave way from the impact as he landed. He felt the whole house shake, watched flaming pieces of the ceiling crumble, and allowed not a moment more to pass before he willed himself to move forward.

Bringing a hand to his mouth as he ran, Galidor fought not to breath in the ashen air around him. He could feel the fires beginning to scorch his skin, could hardly see the more smoke stung his eyes, but -- but he could feel the will of Auri-El guiding him. He would not die this day. The King of Aldmer, Dragon of Time would not allow death to take him.

He burst from the flaming building, the house’s smoldering door easily breaking apart at his shove. Before him stood a group of soldiers, presumably those of the empire which had tried to execute him. They aimed their arrows and spells upwards, no doubt attempting to fell the beast soaring above.

_A fool’s errand_ , he thought. When his eyes met that dragon’s, he could feel that he was staring into something ancient and powerful. Surely, no weapon of mortal make could bring it down.

One of the soldiers turned his attention from the dragon, quickly sizing Galidor up.

“Still alive… Galidor, was it? Come with me if you want to keep it that way!” He shouted, his voice familiar. It was the man who had been reading from the list, the one who seemed most sympathetic to him. Though Galidor felt a brief tinge of distrust, he decided once more that there was simply no time for personal grudges.

He nodded, following as the soldier through the chaos. They passed the scene of a young boy stepping fearfully towards an old man, who looked up to the soldier with worried eyes.

“Gods guide you, Hadvar!” The old man called after the two as they rushed for Helgen’s keep.

Just as they reached the open area before the keep, a man ran out from another crumbling building. It was Ralof, though Ulfric was nowhere to be found. Galidor heard a growl escape Hadvar’s lips, before he shouted at him.

“Ralof, you damn traitor! Out of my way!”

Ralof met Hadvar’s contemptuous scowl with one of his own, gripping an axe he must’ve picked up from one of the fallen soldiers.

“You can’t stop us, Hadvar. We’re escaping, and going straight back to Windhelm!”

“Fine! But you’ll all be going to Sovngarde one day!”

Grabbing Galidor harshly by the arm, Hadvar took off towards the door to the keep. Feeling too weak from the soot in his throat and ash in his eyes to offer any objection, Galidor allowed himself to be pulled to the door to the keep.


End file.
